


Façade

by traipsingexodus



Series: Homunculus [9]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Hint Of World Building, Interspecies Romance, Johto Region, Pokephilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 12:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traipsingexodus/pseuds/traipsingexodus
Summary: These walls are our façade. Within and without, everything changes. Different summer. Different souls. Different places. Different hopes. Different problems? Not so.





	1. A Quiet Hostel

Laila's faced was pressed down into the freshly cleared desk in Oliver's room, her face twisted into an almost vacant grin of ecstasy. The Weavile lifted her head from the small puddle of drool forming by her mouth to look back at Oliver, a fire burning brightly in her eyes, and the vacant grin twisted slowly into a knowing, thoroughly smug smile. Her eyes flickered from the firm grip he had around the odd, brilliantly red plumage that formed an approximation of a tail, to his abdomen slick with sweat in the stuffy room. He was slamming desperately against her and then her eyes trailed up to his face, lined with trails of sweat, his eyes locked with hers now and reflecting fires that burned behind them as brightly. The odd, ominous creaks the wood gave as he thrusted violently into her twisted her smile again, now into a knowing smirk. And so she pulled her self away from him, only to turn about atop the desk and pounce on him, sending him falling onto the bed behind him.

She straddled him, sliding him back inside her and beckoned for him to sit up, each waggle of a clawed finger catching the sunlight that filtered through the curtains behind them for an instant and bringing to life a bright white gleam that was gone as quickly as it came.

That maddeningly smug smirk was still painted on her face.

He gripped Laila's slight frame close to his body, panting heavily. He felt her clawing at his back, leaving haphazard, winding scratches all along it. Some of them bled, but most simply felt alive with the fires of lust. His stomach burned with more telltale signs of their feverish lovemaking, alongside reminders of how they fell prey to desire nearly each night. The sweltering summer nights rose to unbearable temperatures each time. It was the overriding, intoxicating haze of lust that kept the discomfort blocked from their minds.

And the fact that Laila made for an effective, unorthodox icebox herself.

He felt the constant, soft purr somewhere within her vibrating against him and with a grunt of exertion pushed her off of him flat onto the bed. He grabbed hold of her hips and pressed himself inside her once again, trying to push himself further in than he ever had. His thrusts were wild and erratic, informed purely by the half-shaped thoughts exploding in his head. A guttural, slow groan of carnal desire made manifest crawled its way out of his throat and hung in the hot, humid air of their hotel room. He felt her short legs lock inexpertly behind his back, drawing him in, her eyes wide and wild with desire. The purr was replaced by a long, drawn out growl that said one of the few phrases Laila spoke that Oliver could translate perfectly:

"You're mine."

That did it. Sweet, drawn out release racked his body and made him twitch and gasp erratically. He felt the familiar claws at his back cutting long lines along it to his sides, felt them at his chest again too. The growl peaked and shifted into a purr again. When he removed himself completely to collapse at her side, he watched her roll over as well and scramble up to his face to rub hers against his.

He was hot, panting, hot, out of breath, hot, exhausted and hot. With the little energy he could muster after a particularly spirited session of lovemaking in hundred degree heat, he brought his arms up and around Laila to wrap her up in an embrace. He pressed her cool body into himself and let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank the gods you're cold."

He felt her lips brush against his for an instant before she settled her head into the crook of his neck to drift off to sleep. He sputtered a bit as the huge plumes that sprang out from the back of her head smacked him in the face and pushed them away. It was her favorite spot to sleep no matter the occasion, and had a habit of making winters colder than they should have been. No matter, he thought to himself, it was worth it. The strangeness, the long lead up of awkward stares and confusing signals, mismatched body language and nearly insurmountable language barrier – it was all conquerable.

He heard Laila's breathing slow as she drifted off to sleep and with a sigh he scooted away from her inch by inch until he could reach his cell phone sitting on the dresser. With a few swipes he studied the region map and then dropped the phone by his side to rub his eyes and wipe sweat from his brow.

In less than twenty-four hours they'd be out in the heat again. Out before concerned stares and prying eyes. Out where the façades came alive again. Out where Oliver was Trainer and Laila was Pokemon.

Out there again.

In Johto.


	2. A Bitter Forest

In the shade of the canopy. Here, surrounded by trees dense enough to obscure their forms. Here, not far from the beaten path - but enough to kill their voices upon the trunks. Here, where it was cooler, where the sun did not beat down upon their heads. Distorted figures shuffled past. Laughing. Joking. Chirps and calls broke into the air and died as quickly as they were born.

Here, in the shade of the canopy, Laila's moans and purrs could not carry on the wind. Here, the shuffling, the panting, the telltale sounds of love could not betray them to those that passed by. Oliver held her face in his hands, locked into a deep kiss with her. Messy, as always. Mouths ill-suited to lock lips. Sometimes Oliver wondered if Laila liked it that way.

They slid down to the forest floor, and Oliver spread her legs apart wider, pushing him further in. Desperately in. Always desperate. It bothered him at times, this animalistic lust. It was probably worse than Laila's was. The Weavile's eyes were alive with desire, same as they always were, and her mouth was twisted into the knowing grin of ecstasy he'd come to associate with her in these moments.

Was it a sign? A telling smile, knowledge of something deeper? Laila locked her legs behind him and drew him in, purring. It had to be. The half-formed thoughts in his head ricocheted about and dissipated each time they hit a wall in his mind, only to reform as a new thought. His head felt as if it was stuffed full of cotton.

Cool body. Wet slaps. Sharp claws. Burning trails. Red blood. Clear sweat.

The thrusts moved her entire frame up and down along the ground. He seized her hips and lifted her partially up to press further. Her head knocked against the tree once or twice, but she seemed to not notice.

Rustling leaves. Muted voices. Dampened foot falls. Cool body. Wet slaps. Sharp claws. Blissful trails. Red blood. Clear sweat.

Bad thoughts.

He stuffed a fist into his mouth to keep himself from screaming in frustration. The desperation in his chest hurt. Seized his heart and gripped it tight. Wound it with barbed wire and tugged. He pulled his fist out long enough to gasp and then stuffed it back in. Something more than a ball. Than an act. Something to prove it. Show it.

Anything that could make her understand - make everyone understand.

That growl. That carrying vocalization. That  _perfect_  sound that she alone could make, that let him know.  _You're mine_.

He tore his fist out of his mouth and lifted her completely off the ground, surging into her. His entire body shook with grief, lust, anger and release. He wanted to mark her. Wanted to show her - them.

Useless seed.

Oliver collapsed forward onto Laila, to the sounds of a grunt and a growl. Falling so unceremoniously onto her was uncommon, but she was usually forgiving when it did occur.

This time she would be as well. She was always well. Always fine. Always ready for anything. A battle. A walk.  _A fuck._

Dry sobs racked chest. "Why?" he asked the ground. Laila rolled him over and cupped his face, her face alight with concern.

A quiet, inquisitive growl. A delicate claw to wipe away tears. She pressed her lips to his cheek gently and wrapped him in an embrace.

There was a long silence before Oliver spoke at last. His words rose into the air, found their way through her ears and out again.

"I just want to love you."

**Author's Note:**

> As a whole, Facade is a set of an indeterminate number of chapters written in very short spans of time.


End file.
